There is No Arizona
by Chustang
Summary: What if you weren't what you seemed, even to yourself. What if you were a secret, something no one was supposed to know about? What if there was no Arizona?


There is No Arizona   
By Chustang Sundust   


What is blood? Is it really just something that pulses in our veins, the love for which you were born into? Or is it truly alive like you?   
Then if blood is alive, can steel be too? Or is the cold machine just a thing of material, like humans have thought for years. For over millennia, they thought that if you shattered metal, it wouldn't hurt, wouldn't die. It was nothing but steel. But what about the Steel Pokemon? Doesn't the metal they truly are breathe like any other living thing?   
Maybe. 

~ The Writing on the Wall 

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There is No Arizona   
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Chapter 1   
"With Arms Wide Close" 

  
* Misty Leais Cascade felt the golden, healing sunrays of morning flood the room in light. The light painted the small, cozy hotel room brilliant shades of gold, faint red, and peach. Lazily, she lifted her eyelids and sat up in her bed. Curled up in an extra blanket at her feet was Pikachu, his fur shining healthily in the sun. As she moved and disturbed him, the cute Pokemon yawned and stretched, sparking at his cheeks. "Good morning Pikachu," she said, scratching him behind his ears gently.   
The mouse smiled and replied happily, "Chu!" He shook his fur, which fluffed out and crackled with blue static, then began to groom his coat. With the sparks flying to his cheeks like magnets, Pikachu tried to flatten his electrified fur with his paws but it made it worse, giving him the appearance of a fluffy Pomeranian. Sighing, he leaped off the bed and scampered into the bathroom, his frizzed coat still sparking.   
Misty laughed at the sight. Too bad Ash and Brock are still asleep, she thought, they would have loved to see this. She got out of bed and heard the squeak of the bathtub handle being slowly turned.   
Suddenly, a blinding flash of blue electricity erupted from the bathroom door, discharging jagged lightning bolts. A shrill scream of pain pierced the air along with the thunder that roared straight in her face, sending her flying against the bed. Misty screamed in shock as the lightning instantly whizzed by her face, dusting her cheeks with crackling sparks, and loomed over where Ash and Brock slept in their sleeping bags, on the floor at the bed's end. Like a serpent, it seemed to glare down on the two sleeping boys, deciding which to strike. But the arch of the thunderbolt barely slowed before it chose its target.   
A few seconds and five thousand volts later, a delirious Ash Ketchum collapsed to the ground, sizzling from the electricity. His spiky black hair stood on end and his eyes spun dizzily. "Pikachu… why did you do that?" he groaned, rubbing his head.   
A discharged and soaking wet Pikachu walked out of the bathroom door. His golden fur was limp and charged with sparking static, dripping. "Pi Pika Pikachu Pikachu…. I guess taking a bath with static hair was a bad idea…>" he squeaked. 

Shadows sulked over the sky, a cloak of black, impending doom that she knew so much. The blackish, flinty clouds swirled slowly over its domain, a destiny god that seemed to watch with cold, glaring eyes. It was spiteful, angry, and cruel, like the evil harshness of steel.   
Teeth gritted angrily at the thought.   
One day, one day the steel shall die. 

* * * * *

Ash sat on the edge of the bed, while his head seemed to be painfully ripped in all different directions. His hair had been so tangled up after the thunderbolts that he had to brush his hair or look like a complete idiot. As Misty strained to pull a brush though his knotted, gnarled hair, he constantly screamed in pain, trying to escape her reach. "Misty! Quit it, that really hurts!" he whined desperately, clutching at his punished, throbbing head. But relentlessly, the demonic brush slashed down through his hair, and bringing with it a huge knot. With every agonizing yank, he let out a shrill scream.   
"Oh, just shut up and take it. If you would at least brush it once in a while, you wouldn't have to go bald when you do," she snapped, her azure eyes flashing dangerously. Despite facing away from her glare, he still cringed fearfully.   
As the burning pain from the demon brush once again slashed at his head, Ash clenched his fists, pounding against the bed and drawing blood from the intensity of his fists. A few streams of blood leaked through his gritting fingers. Finally, he couldn't stand the agony anymore and quickly snatched the brush from Misty's hands as she brought it down again. Suddenly, she yelled, "Hey!" raising a threatening fist as she swiftly scrambled onto her feet.   
With a devilish grin dripping with mischief, the young Pokemon trainer leaped off the bed, an enraged Misty hot on his trail. "Pikachu, catch!" he called, gently tossed the brush to his loyal Pikachu that had been occupied grooming his fur, sitting on the couch parallel from the bed. The Pokemon received the brush with his little paws, and at his master's mischievous smirk, dashed off in a flash and hid the demonic thing.   
It was the furious, thunder-shaming roar of rage that snapped Brock awake from his nap, and froze the Pokemon trainer in his tracks. "I SWEAR IF YOU DIDN'T OWE ME A BIKE I'D GIVE YOU A SLOW AND HARSH DEATH!!" she screamed fiercely.   
A slow, impish smile crept up his lips. He folded his arms, flashing cynical brown eyes at her. "I gave you a bike, remember?" he said, his smile growing by the second. "But I don't seem to be suffering a-" he lifted his hands and made the " " sign with his fingers "-'a slow and harsh death' as you put it."   
Brock spoke up, rubbing his temples from the impending headache. "Please shut up. The last thing I want to wake up to is a murder," he mumbled drowsily.   


The electric guitar's inspiring, soulful song rocked his ears inside and out, harmonized by a deep, moving voice that sang lyrics of pure truth. Ash Ketchum slightly nodded his head in time to the rock beat, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the CD player. Nothing like a few tracks of Creed in the morning, he thought happily to himself. 'With Arms Wide Open' was his favorite, followed by 'Higher' and it repeated itself droningly over and over, yet it still retained that stirring, passionate sound from the first time he heard it.   
Lazing on the hotel couch, the copper-tinted sunlight lighting the entire waiting room, he stared out the wall-sized window. The sun barely made its way into the baby-blue arch of infinite sky. Lanky willow trees bordered the massive slab of glass, with his Pokemon playing in their branches and dozing in their shade. Pikachu smiled at his loyal master, who was indulged fully in the song, then chased Espeon playfully.   
Ash Ketchum felt the electricity of the machine and song 'Higher' pulse through his veins, as familiar as it was fiery. It was almost as if he could really feel the electricity. Little did he know, tiny, crackling sparks from the CD player shot into his skin, shocking him a bit. But that shock, he had grown up with. He had never known anything different, so why shouldn't he think that being a magnet to electricity wasn't normal?   
He tipped the rim of his worn, trusty red hat over his face, lying out straight on the old couch. The tattered thing sagged beneath the fifteen year old's weight as he lazily pressed the skip button a few times, searching around his favorite CD. Creed rocked his brain as he drifted off slowly; his mind lulled by the beat and pulled into a semi-conscious state.   
Meanwhile, Misty tended to her Pokemon across the waiting room, sitting in a large, deep blue loveseat. Starmie was being treated from its wounds from battling TR yesterday, its vivid red gem glistening healthily. The giant, lavender starfish cooed in gratitude as Misty stroked its bruises, adding a little more Pokemon Crème. Now that Starmie's finished, she thought, smiling, it can go play for a while we wait for Brock.   
"Go on Starmie, they're waiting for you outside," Misty said, as the starfish hovered out the door to play in the hotel's front lawn. She turned her gaze to the clock, the only thing that dared pierce the steady silence. 9:45. Brock should be here soon, she said to herself.   
Her azure eyes darted across the room, just to stop on Ash. An involuntary smile twisted her lips. He looked so cute lying there, with his hat barely containing his wild, jet-black hair. The silvery headphones tied some hair down to his head. Five years ago. Was it really that long ago? He has grown a lot, from that brat I fished out of the river, she thought to herself. Ash now, after a long thirteen years of being teased as short, had shot up to a good 5'8". His dark, ragged sneakers hung over the arm of the couch, his shoelaces limply hanging. Although once lanky and thin, he had shaped up to be an excellent runner and had added plenty of muscles to his small frame in those years, his black shirt clinging to his torso. She had to admit to herself, he could turn quite a few female heads now.   
"Hey Ash, when did Brock say he'd be back from the garage with the jeep?" she asked.   
"Uhummm…" he groaned sleepily, eyes closed.   
She smirked and stood up, her long ponytail brushing her back. Silently, she stalked over to the couch, crouching beside his head. Misty could hear the expressive grudge rock spilling from the headphones, and her face slightly twisted. Since when was Ash into rock?   
His eyes were shadowed from the hat, and she could barely see his face in the black. So cute, innocent even, but with an overall theme of ruggedness.   
"Whatcha listenin' to?" Misty asked, standing up and placing her hand on her hips.   
"Creed." Ash's voice was a tired, lazy reply above a groan, not bothering to look up. He only slightly stirred, his fingers still tapping in beat.   
"Who?"   
"Creed." He was impassive, half asleep.   
"Never heard of them," she answered a bit sheepishly. It stung to know she hardly even understood him, despite her major crush. Misty didn't even know what music he was into until now. Her mind began to think in a grinding chain, as it usually did, and she started criticize her faults and errs again. What else didn't she know about him? Ash liked rock, apparently, wanted to be a Master, and…. the list ended her. She truly didn't know him!   
Discouragement echoing in her heart, she asked softly, "Can I listen?" Her fingers wandered, beyond her control, to his cheek. It was soft and warm, like baby's skin, beneath her fingertips. His eyes suddenly cracked open, as she swiftly recoiled her hand that felt almost burning from joy, their emotional, amber-brown light as bright as always. A smile lifted his face beneath the hat's rim.   
"Sure." He slowly sat up; stretching his arms, and quickly took off his silver headphones that glinted the sunlight. "What do you want to hear?"   
Inside, her heart fluttered wildly. Her lips cradled an answer so so greatly wished she could say but was afraid to. His eyes studied her at her hesitation, innocent and curious. Say it, she urged herself. And, from impulsion, she said, "Which ever is your favorite."   
Smiling, Ash gently offered his headphones as he replied. "I like 'With Arms Wide Open' the best." His sun-tanned fingers tapped the button, and the familiar chords cascaded out of the machine again. Misty accepted it and placed it over her ears, listening carefully to the song. Surprised, as the first lyrics, touching and heart-felt, echoed through her mind. 'Well I just heard the news today…' They touched her soul, like nothing ever had, speaking her heart. Now she understood why Ash liked Creed so much. It just stirred something that lay tired and lonesome within her.   
"Like it?" he asked, sitting up and straightening his red cap out, the spiky black locks of his hair still messy.   
"Yeah!" she replied, her eyes closed as she listened carefully. "But how come I never saw you listening to any music before?"   
He shrugged his shoulders casually, reaching for his red, sleeveless jacket and slipping it on. "I just never got the CD from my house, that's all. I got it from my Mom last year for my birthday."   
Suddenly, the lonesome creak of the door let a golden sea of sunlight into the hotel lobby. They turned their eyes to see Brock step in, his face clearly smudged with oil and dirt and holding a wrench. In the years when Ash had grown half a foot, Brock himself had just managed to score over six feet, and was basically same. He still had the rugged but composed look, his face now smudged from hard work and sloppy oil.   
He flickered his squinty eyes across the room, and they settled on them. "Ash! We got a problem with the jeep! No body knows what's wrong with it," he said, holding up his blackened wrench between oil-black fingers. "Think you might want a try at it?"   
His life-lighted brown eyes only lifted to her for a second, curious and unsure. He hadn't been around cars much in his life, accept for a few afternoon chores with their old van. Ash shrugged and replied, his lock of black hair brushing his cheeks as if fell over his eyes, "I guess so. Can't hurt, can it?"   


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Author note: 

I don't own Creed or Jamie O'Neal or their songs, so don't sue. I got the idea for this AAMRN from the country song, There is No Arizona. I love Ash-angst fics, and I guess this isn't my first. ^_^ Next chapter is going to be a bit violent, but it's a very important part of the plot. Please R&R!   
  
  
  


  
  
  


  



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